You're No Specialist
by Order of the Aether
Summary: Baron Zemo is highly skeptical about this new visitor to his cell. This American in a wheelchair can't be the specialist he says he is. Not an OC romance, just to clear things up. (Heh.) By Mish of the Order. Takes place after Civil War, minor spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**You're No Specialist**

 _ **A/N: Hey again! It's me, Mish of the Order, back again with another story. This time, it's a five-part series. :O**_

 _ **Each entry in the series will be published weekly, unless I end up procrastinating. Which is never. (Heh) The chapters are a bit short, but that's just a given with the writing style I'm going to do these in. But on the bright side, it leaves more room for imagination. Anyway, thanks, as always, for reading my stuff. Enjoy!**_

 _ **(Oh, and stay tuned for another chapter next Saturday.)**_

* * *

I had been in the compound for two weeks. I hated the smug, distasteful looks I got from the guards. I hated the cell I was in and how I couldn't lie down for a rest. I hated the food I was served. I hated everything.

" _Herr_ Zemo." I looked up to see a guard pass a card over a scanner. He walked into my containment facility, escorting a scrawny, American kid in a wheelchair.

"You have a visitor." The guard gestured to the kid, who wheeled his chair forward. The kid pulled out a clipboard and a pen. The guard pulled up a table between me and the boy.

The guard nodded to the boy and left the room. The scowl on my face was evident as the boy glanced up at me, raised his eyebrows, and looked back down at his clipboard.

"So, what are you here for? Make it quick, I have other things to do," I demanded.

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Zemo." The kid had a professional air about him. "My name is Benjamin Shelly, and I will be your specialist for the next month or so."

"You don't look old enough to be a specialist," I observed with the same commanding tone.

"No sir, I'm twenty-four. I just received my degree."

"Hmph, you still look like a kid," I pointed out, gesturing to his pre-pubescent face. I was going to get the last word in whether the brat liked it or not. It's just my nature.

"Yes sir. Now let's get on with the evaluation. Have you..." The brat slid a brightly colored deck of cards toward me. "...ever played Uno?"

I scoffed. What kind of an evaluation is this? Does this boy take me for a fool? "You are joking." I pushed the cards away from me.

"No sir, it says right here, 'Uno: Cognition test'." The kid tapped his clipboard with his pen.

"I refuse to participate in such a ludicrous test." I stared at the boy, my distaste obvious.

"Well sir, I'm sorry to hear that." The boy seemed annoyingly sympathetic. "I was sent here to evaluate your behavior and attitude so that you might possibly get moved to a less high-security cell, but since you said no..." he trailed off.

I snapped to attention. "So...you said it's a cognition test?"

* * *

I slapped a bright yellow card onto the discard pile. I was hunched over intently, examining the cards in my hands.

"Uno," the bratty kid's voice called out as he gently placed down another yellow card.

I looked back down at my cards. I had five left. I cursed under my breath. I wasn't going to lose to a bratty kid. I examined my cards carefully. After some strategic thinking, I placed down a green card of the same number. I nearly smiled, but I wasn't going to let the kid know that I was enjoying this game. I was only supposed to participate and not cause any disturbance.

A small clack sounded. I looked up. The kid had his fingers around a green card, and it was sitting on top of the discard pile. I cursed under my breath again.

"Well, I think that's all for today." The boy checked a few things off of his clipboard as he addressed me. I scowled and threw the remaining four cards onto the table. The kid collected the cards and placed them in a satchel that hung from one of the wheelchair's arm rests.

"I think the test went well today. Thank you, Mr. Zemo. I look forward to seeing you next week. Until then." The boy nodded to me, and then to the guard who came forward to replace the front panel of my cell. I watched as the brat wheeled his chair out the door and down the hall until I couldn't see him any more.

* * *

 _ **A/N: So there you have it, the first installment to my five part series! If you have any questions about my OC Ben Shelly, please feel free to ask. Review, PM, whatever. I'll find it and get back to you. I don't bite, honest. Also, it gives me an excuse to have social interaction since I spend most of my time at my desk writing or drawing.**_

 _ **...**_

 _ **...**_

 _ **...**_

 _ **I'm so lonely.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**You're No Specialist**

* * *

 _ **A/N: Welcome back! Did'ya miss me? Let's not waste your time here, you didn't come to say "Hi" to me - you came to read the second installment of You're No Specialist. Here you go, enjoy.**_

 _ **Side note: This series reached 100 views. Thanks so much! :D**_

* * *

" _Herr_ Zemo, you're in luck today."

I stopped tapping the back of my head against the thick polycorbonate glass and bent my head to scowl at the guard.

"You..." He tapped the glass in front of me. "...get to go outside."

I furrowed my eyebrows. _Outside? For what?_

The guard raised his eyebrows and leaned his head toward me, "Your Specialist is here today. You know, your only guest this whole month."

I unfurrowed my eyebrows and leaned back in my seat. Oh. _Him._

The guard removed the front panel of my cell and grasped my arm, pulling me out. I stumbled a bit as the blood flowed back into my legs.

"Upstairs says you've been in there for too long. You're gonna need to take a physical." The guard chuckled at me as I took two wobbly steps forward.

I shook off the guard's hand on my shoulder and stumbled forward. Even though I hadn't walked in weeks, I wasn't going to let anyone give _me_ assistance.

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Zemo." The cheerful voice of that brat Ben Shelly rang in my ears. I scowled in return as I advanced to meet him. I glanced around at my surroundings. I was in an outdoor gymnasium surrounded by thick glass walls. _Probably has a laser grid just beyond._

The kid nodded to the guard that was escorting me. The guard walked over to the entrance from which I had just come. Another guard passed through the doors and went to stand beside him.

I looked back at the wheelchair-bound brat. "Well?"

The kid looked up at me from his clipboard. "Alright, today you will be doing a physical examination. Right now, we are going to test your physical strength and coordination, and later you will be getting a check-up in the infirmary. Is that understood?" The kid tilted his head as if to question my stupidity.

"I was already told," I responded curtly.

"Yessir." The boy nodded. "Now, for this test you will need to do exactly as I tell you."

I shifted my center of gravity and crossed my arms. "Proceed."

"Put your right hand forward," the brat instructed.

I did so.

"Okay, and take it out," the kid continued.

I did so as well.

"Put in back in," the boy instructed, moving his arm forward to mimic what I was supposed to do.

I did this, my eyebrows raised in suspicion. _He's up to something._

"Now shake your arm back and forth." The boy tapped his clipboard with his pen.

I did this, then stopped. "This is not part of the test is it?"

"Nah, I just wanted to see you do the Hokey-Pokey." The brat smiled at me. I could hear the guards chuckling.

I scoffed, doubting his credibility as a specialist even more.

* * *

I passed through the doors of the infirmary. Two guards flanked me, the brat wheeling behind me. We walked back to my cell.

When we reached my unit, one of the guards pressed my face against the wall so I couldn't see as another typed in the code to my room. _As if I was capable of getting out of my cell once they locked me in._

My nose popped as I was released from the wall. I scowled. I walked into the room and sat back into my seat. I watched as the guards closed and locked the front panel of my cell back into place. They left the room and went to stand outside of the doorway.

The brat wheeled his way toward me. He stopped a few feet away from my cell. "Thank you again, Mr Zemo. The test went well today. I expect the results from the doctors tomorrow so I can sign off on your physical. I hope to see you next week."

I grunted. His goodbyes were getting more long-winded.

The kid nodded to me and wheeled out the doorway and down the hall.

I leaned my head back against the polycorbonate glass and continued my brooding, counting off all of the things I hated about life.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Alright. Part two complete! Thanks, as always, for reading. I'll see you next week for part three. :D**_


	3. Chapter 3

**You're No Specialist-3**

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hey, welcome back! Apologies for the late upload, I had a lot of stuff to do on Father's Day weekend. :/ Here's installment three!**_

* * *

"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Zemo."

I looked up from my lunch. The "Specialist", Ben Shelly, was here again. I nodded in response to his greeting.

"I'm finished," I said to my guard. The guard took my tray from me and disposed of the remaining food contents. The guard returned and unfastened the restraints that kept me in my chair in the cafeteria.

"Shall we go?" the brat wheeled his chair out of the cafeteria and down a long hallway. I followed behind the brat, the guard tailing me.

"So…how was your week?" The kid looked over his shoulder.

"Same as last week," I replied bluntly.

"So…I take it you've had no other visitors?"

I grunted.

I stopped in my tracks. _What was I doing engaging in frivolous conversation? Was I getting that lax already?_

"So, what was that sandwich you were having?" the boy asked.

 _Screw it._

"Bologna, ham, and swiss sandwich—extra vegetables. Do you have some sort of sandwich obsession of something?" I answered.

"Now that you mention it, I guess I do. I used to eat PBJD sandwiches all the time as a kid.

"What?"

"Peanut butter, jelly, and Dorito sandwiches," the brat clarified.

"It sounds revolting." I rolled my eyes.

"But so good." The boy chuckled. "Anyway, here we are."

The brat wheeled his chair through the open door and into my containment room.

I sat down in a folding chair. I observed the things set out on the table before me: a pencil, a clipboard, and a mug of coffee.

The boy wheeled his chair to the side opposite side of the table. He brought the cup of coffee up to his mouth and took a sip.

"Today, you will be doing a Foreign Languages exercise. It will be in English. If you will pick up the clipboard in front of you and examine it, you will see that there are certain types of words written out for you. Beside those types of words there are blanks that you need to fill with the corresponding type of word. For example if the word is 'noun' you write 'pencil' and so on. Am I clear?" The kid took a sip of his coffee again. His eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.

"I understand." I picked up the clipboard and pencil and began writing.

* * *

"I've finished." I slid the clipboard across the table.

"Great, now let me check your work." The kid picked up the clipboard and examined it. "Let's see here. 'Monstrous'—ooh, nice one—'Belittling', 'Observed', 'Annoying kid in a wheelchair'—oh ho ho, I get it—But we only need one word here so let's write, 'Horse'."

I stared at the brat until he had finished checking the paper. "Well?"

" _Well,_ thank you, Mr. Zemo, for filling out this Mad Libs for me." The boy folded the piece of paper over the top of the clipboard to reveal another one underneath. I saw rectangular holes cut out of the top paper. _So the words I wrote must've filled in spaces on the paper below it. Wait, do I know what this 'Mad Libs' thing even is?_

"What are Mad Libs?" I asked.

"Oh, just a word game. You fill out certain words to complete a story, but you don't know what the story is until you've filled out the words," the kid replied in a chipper tone.

The boy looked down at the clipboard and started to read. His eyes grew wide as he read what was written.

"What? What is it?" I demanded.

"Nothing—" the brat stifled a chuckle, "—Nothing at all."

"Let me see," I protested as I tried to grab the clipboard. After some time I managed to bend the clipboard back for a few seconds, but I had no time to read what was on it.

With one final jerk, the brat freed the clipboard from my hands. He immediately started to wheel his chair backwards. The guard who was waiting by the door came in and began walking toward me.

"Thank you again, Mr. Zemo," the kid spoke through laughter, "I will see you next week. Goodbye!" With that, the kid turned his wheelchair around and left the room.

The guard tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face him, grunted, and got up to go to my cell. I sat down in the chair.

The guard closed the front panel of my cell and left the room.

I crossed my arms and slouched as much as I could in the tight space. _What was so funny on that paper?_

It was bugging me. I _hate_ when things bug me.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Here you go! Sorry again for the delays. See you next week!**_


	4. Chapter 4

**You're No Specialist**

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hey guys! Here's the last chapter of the YNS series. I will be uploading an epilogue to finish the series off next week, so look forward to that.**_

* * *

"Well, you finally broke me."

I jerked my head up, nearly spilling the coffee I had in my hand. The brat, Ben Shelly, was standing in front of me. _Wait, I broke him? What?_ I furrowed my eyebrows and stared at him.

"Yeah, I'm getting re-assigned to a new patient. This will be the last test I'll be giving you." The kid seemed disappointed to be leaving.

"Well...let's go then." I stood up. I shifted my weight a few times, standing awkwardly. I finally managed to catch the kid's attention. I gestured for him to go forward.

"Oh! You want me to go ahead of you. Right." The boy chuckled. He started to wheel his wheelchair down the hall. I stepped in line behind him.

"Are you going to stay in Europe?" I asked while gazing up at the ceiling tiles.

"Ah! No, no. I'm going back to the United States. Believe it or not, you're my first patient outside of the US."

The second he finished speaking I nearly tripped over something in front of me. It was the kid's wheelchair. He had stopped moving and was rummaging through his messenger bag.

"You should've warned me that you were going to stop." I looked back at the kid and asked, "What are you looking for?"

"My clipboard. I must've forgotten it today. Crap." The kid stopped rummaging through his back and slumped into his chair, sighing, "Oh well."

The kid started moving his wheelchair forward again. I followed behind him.

"But what about the test?" I questioned.

"This one was optional. I guess I'll think of something." The boy stopped his wheelchair so he could turn around to smirk at me. I blew a sharp breath out of my nose as he turned back around.

"What do you feel about 20 questions?" the kid asked.

"Do I get to get to ask questions?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Sure, why not?" the brat shrugged.

* * *

"What's your first name?" the kid asked, sitting hunched over, waiting for my answer.

"Helmut," I responded.

"Helmet?" the kid asked. He snorted.

"No, Hemlut, with a 'u'." I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, your turn." The boy sat back in his seat.

"How did you lose your legs?" I gestured to his missing lower legs.

The kid bolted upright. _This must be a touchy subject._

"Weeell..." The kid scrunched up his face in an uncomfortable manner. "It's kind of a long story."

"We have time." I pointed to the clock on the far wall.

"Heh, I guess you're right." The kid shifted uncomfortably. "Well, if you really want to know, I had an accident a few years back. A company called Cybertek offered to give me prosthetic legs, and a new lung.

"Before I new it, I had become their slave, doing whatever they told me to do. Most of it consisted of killing people. I hated it, but I couldn't say no. If I did, they'd set off an explosive implanted in my head.

"A few years of that and SHEILD found me. They helped fix me. They wanted to keep my legs, but I didn't. It just reminded me of what I had gone through.

"So one night while I was alone in my room, I took my legs off. I had worked as a robotics engineer when I was a teen, so I was able to successfully detach my legs. After that, I built a make-shift wheelchair using parts of my old prosthetics."

The kid gave me a tight-lipped smile. "That's about it."

"Wow." That's pretty much all I could say.

"Yeah..."

There was a still silence.

"Oh! I almost forgot." The kid reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a notebook and a box of crayons. "They wouldn't let me give you colored pencils," the boy chuckled, and handed them to me.

I took them and looked down at them. "What am I supposed to do with these?" I asked.

"Draw something pretty for me. I might come back to see it." The brat - er, kid - gave me a friendly smile before calling for the guard.

The guard passed through the set of doors and closed the front panel of my cell.

"Thank you, Mr. Zemo," the kid said. "I enjoyed my visits here. Don't forget to draw something in there. Until next time." Ben Shelly wheeled his chair out of my containment unit and down the hall. I watched him until I couldn't see him anymore.

I glanced down at my notebook. I opened the pack of crayons and started to color.

I had been coloring for an hour before I stopped to examine what I had drawn. It was the countryside outside of Sokovia. I closed my eyes as the memories flooded back. And for the first time in a long time, I was completely relaxed.

I let out a long sigh, and fell asleep.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _ ***Sigh* I told myself not to give me the feels. But, it happened. Ack!**_

 _ **Anywho, what did you all think? Let me know in the reviews. (I'm actually asking you this time, so please do it.) Thanks!**_

 _ **Side Note: If you've watched Agents of SHEILD, the possibility of Ben Shelly actually being one of the super soldiers made by Cybertek is pretty high. In one of the episodes, Coulson and Agent Melinda May discover a room filled with file cases on the different super-soldiers that Cybertek had created. There was a TON of files, and a TON of file cases. So, it's highly probable that Ben Shelly could be one of the many, many people that Cybertek had "helped".**_

 _ **Also, in another episode, Fitz and Simmons (Fitz-Simmons is the one TRUE OTP of AoS. Anyone saying otherwise is stupid.) successfully removed the explosive that was implanted in a super-soldier. So, it can be done.**_

 ** _Anywho, see you next week!_**


	5. Epilogue

**You're No Specialist - Epilogue**

 _ **A/N: We made it! Welcome to the last upload for You're No Specialist. I am considering writing a second season, but I will need ideas for a basic premise and chapter ideas. If you have any ideas, feel free to PM me about it. (Especially those who asked me to continue the series. I'm looking at you, (Insert name of person who asked me to continue here.). :P) Thanks!**_

 _ **(Just a heads up, the epilogue is written in third-person perspective.)**_

* * *

Xena Rose, an informant of S.H.E.I.L.D., sat cross-legged with her feet propped up on a table. Across from her sat Ben Shelly, who was excitedly recounting his experience with Baron von Zemo.

"Wait, let me get this straight - S.H.E.I.L.D. asked you, Ben Shelly, to be Helmut Zemo's Specialist? You're not a doctor. You're not even a counselor. You're an engineer!" Xena paused for a moment, her ivory colored face wrinkled with confusion.

Upon a sudden revelation, Xena's eyes lit up and a sly smirk came across her face. "Or, S.H.E.I.L.D. got wind of your uncanny ability to screw with people and asked you to annoy their latest captured villain."

Ben Shelly threw up his hands with a proud smile on his face and joked, "What can I say? My reputation precedes me."

The two agents burst into a round of laughter.

When the laughter calmed down, Xena sighed, rolled her eyes, and continued the conversation. "So, do you plan on visiting the guy like you said? You know you'll have to drop the specialist act since your visits will be of your own free will, right?"

Ben nodded his head, bouncing his golden fringe. "I know. But I doubt he believed that I was a specialist—you know—with all of the phony tests and all."

Xena flicked a strand of hair behind her ear and pushed her glasses up, contemplating this. "I dunno. You are pretty good at acting—for an amateur anyway. And I would know. I practically lived with my school's theater troop," she chuckled.

"Wow, thanks! I always doubted my acting abilities. But since I got confirmation from you, the master of acting, I guess I'll take your word for it." Ben smiled brightly.

Xena colored and waved her hand dismissively. "No I'm not," she protested.

"Yes you are," Ben argued.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Xena conceded. She laughed. She removed her feet from the table and sat forward in her chair. "Soooo," she drawled, "Does anyone else know of your little specialist stunt yet?"

"Not yet," Ben answered, a playful smirk on his face.

"Let's go tell 'em!" Xena jumped up from her chair.

"Sure!" Ben agreed.

* * *

 _ **A/N: And there you have it, a little clarification for those who needed it. I could've answered everything I touched on in the epilogue like this:**_ " _ **No, Ben Shelly is not a Specialist. Yes, Ben Shelly is an engineer. Yes, he does have a rather uncanny ability to screw with people, even though he's just a really sweet guy."**_

 _ **But where's the fun in that?**_

 _ **Anywho, thank you for following along with me on this little story expedition of mine. I hope you enjoyed it.**_

 _ **-Mish of the Order**_


End file.
